


Ramus

by the_moonmoth



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2005-07-14
Updated: 2005-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-14 09:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_moonmoth/pseuds/the_moonmoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strange things keep happening to Rodney's reality, and not all of them are called John Sheppard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ramus

_'Alright McKay, I'm here, let's go.'_

It's always the same.

 _'So nice of you to show up, Major. I was about to have Dr. Zelenka send out the blood hounds.'_

Every night.

 _'You're not the only one with a job to do around here, you know.'_

His eyes.

 _'Yes, yes, let's stop wasting even more time so I can get on with mine, shall we?'_

The way he moves.

 _'What does it do, anyway?'_

The way he touches it.

 _'Well how am I supposed to know? I didn't call you down here for your stimulating company.'_

A caress, almost.

 _'Just turn it on, Major.'_

Then the light. And the voice, calling out.

He always wakes with a gasp, eyes wide in the dark.

By the time he's reached out to turn on the bedside lamp the faces have faded, the names retreating on his tongue, and eventually, when his heart has stopped pounding, he goes back to sleep. But always, the dreams are the same.

***

 _The Universe is, in fact, split into an infinite number of copies of itself, in which every possible outcome to every decision ever made all exists somewhere in this infinitely layered 'Multi-Universe.'_ \--Dr. Rodney McKay

***

McKay slammed his fist on the desk in frustration.

'Is there a problem, Rodney?' asked a voice from behind.

Rodney turned to face his boss. 'Why no, Greg,' he said crossing his arms, 'as idiocy seems to be so acceptable to this company. It really is amazing to me how a multinational corporation like this is held up by such-' he waved at the fan of error messages on his computer screen in disgust- 'incompetence. And where's the tech support?' He jabbed a finger in the direction of the empty desk.

'Rodney,' Greg said.

'Never mind,' Rodney muttered sitting back down and pulling up the programming shell. 'I'll do it myself.'

'Rodney,' Greg repeated.

Rodney waved a hand distractedly at him. 'Busy.'

'Rodney, it's eleven o'clock.'

Rodney looked up at the clock on the wall, and then noticed that it wasn't just the support desk that was deserted. 'Oh,' he said.

'The cleaning staff want to get in. Go home,' Greg said, shrugging on a long, grey raincoat. Then with a pointed look that said McKay had better not disobey him and he'd certainly find out if he did, Greg turned and left, and then Rodney was alone in the large office.

***

'Where are you going?' shouted the man, over the noise of the rain and the traffic.

'Charles Court, Fifth and West,' Rodney shouted back, with just a touch of smugness. Everyone knew that was a good area. This pushy, scruffy-looking man couldn't possibly have any business up there.

'That's great -- I'm going that way too. We _can_ share.'

'I don't think so,' Rodney said. The cab had been hard won on a wet Friday night like this. He was soaking and irritable and there was no way he was sharing with this... person. He made to slam the door, but the man yanked it back quickly and he lost his grip, then a dark head dripping with water pushed itself in and smiled winningly at him.

'This really is too kind of you, sir,' he drawled. McKay stared at him open-mouthed for a few moments, then realized that his briefcase was being dripped on, and promptly scooted over, holding it protectively on his knees. The man got in, the taxi moved off. McKay sighed.

'Hey, you,' he directed at the driver. 'You make a habit of letting your paying customers get accosted by hooligans?' The driver grunted and shut the partition between them.

'Hey,' the man beside him protested.

'What?' McKay snapped.

' _Hooligan_?'

Rodney peered at him. The door light of the cab was still on and he could get a better look at his new companion. 'You're right,' he said, 'you're far too old.' McKay took in the man's baggy jeans and zip-up sweater. 'Overgrown college frat-boy wannabe might have been more appropriate.'

The man gave him a narrow look.

'Do I know you?' Rodney suddenly asked, peering at him. 'You look vaguely familiar.' He scrutinized him for a couple more seconds, and then his stomach clenched. 'You're a criminal, aren't you? I saw you on the news, didn't I? Well I can tell you now, I don't have any cash on me and my laptop is encoded.'

'Laptop?' the man asked.

McKay's eyes widened in alarm. 'Okay, I lied, I have lots of money and you can take it all. Oh God, do you have a knife?'

'Relax,' said the man, 'I'm not going to steal anything.'

'Oh thank God.' McKay slumped back for a moment, then sat forward again. 'But you're still a criminal. What did you do? I should turn you in. Driver!' He rapped on the partition but the driver ignored him.

'I'm not a criminal, either!' the man said, looking annoyed. 'Look,' he said after a few seconds of irritable silence, 'can't we just play nicely?'

'You hijacked my cab,' said McKay indignantly.

'It's raining,' the man complained. McKay wasn't swayed. 'Okay,' the man sighed, 'if it really bothers you, I'll get out at the next red.' He looked sad, in an earnest sort of way, and against his will McKay felt like he'd kicked something small and needy.

'Fine,' he sighed heavily, 'fine. Stay. But I'm not talking to you.'

'My name's John,' said John ignoring him, holding out his hand. 'I like football and Ferris... wheels...' he trailed off at Rodney's glare. 'Okay,' he said, holding up the proffered hand, 'no talking.'

' _Thank_ you.' McKay turned away, eyes fixed determinedly forward. The silence settled over them and Rodney silently coaxed himself into unclenching his jaw. Two minutes later, the man's fidgeting finally became unbearable.

'Will you stop that?' He turned to glower at 'John', and accidentally caught his briefcase with his elbow. John's eyes flickered down, following the briefcase.

'No problem, Robert.'

McKay stared at him, caught off guard. 'What?'

'Roger?'

John's eyes flicked down to the briefcase again. 'Richard.' McKay glanced down too, and saw in one corner his initials _R.M._ embossed in gold. His mother's implacable taste.

'Oh yes, very clever,' he said.

'Rodney,' John then said, and when Rodney didn't reply John looked pleased out of all proportion. 'Rodney? Well, nice to meet you, Rodney.'

'Oh look, a red light down the road.'

'Can I call you Rod?'

'No.'

***

Rodney's loft is part of a smart apartment block on the corner of Fifth and West with a nice view of the New York skyline and a terrace from which to enjoy it. It was fully furnished and decorated when he moved in and he hasn't changed it since. To gain entry, one has to navigate a plethora of security measures, including biometrics and voice recognition. Rodney pays extra for this, even though it's a rip-off -- it's worth it to keep the Air Force from continually bugging him. A woman comes twice a week to clean. He's sometimes thought about getting a cat.

***

'So, Rodney, you always work this late on Friday nights?'

'You don't know I was working,' Rodney said. 'Who says I was working? I could have been,' he waved a hand vaguely, 'painting the town red.'

John raised an eyebrow. 'Red,' he repeated flatly, and eyed McKay dubiously.

Rodney looked down at his raincoat, the suit underneath, briefcase still balanced on his knees. 'Okay, I was working,' he admitted. 'I'm an analyst, so obviously I have no life. But it pays almost well enough to compensate.'

'Huh,' John said. 'How'd you end up doing that?'

'Funny thing, really,' Rodney said, smiling nostalgically. Then the cab screeched to a halt and he had to brace a hand against the seat in front of him to stop himself from being garroted by the seatbelt.

'The hell?' from beside him.

'Hey! Hey you.' Rodney rapped hard on the partition. 'Why have we stopped?'

The driver shrugged, but opened the partition slightly. 'Tailback,' he said, his accent thick but indefinable. Some kind of generic New York taxi-driver accent, Rodney had decided long ago.

'Oh for Gods... At this time of night?' He leaned in toward John to try to get a look through the windshield. 'I could walk home quicker.'

***

In the morning, Rodney gets up at five and works out on the cross-trainer for half an hour with the news on TV. Then he showers, makes coffee and drinks it while reading the FT and mindlessly eating his cereal. His cab arrives at six-thirty and, ignoring the doorman's nod, he gets in to trade barbs with the driver while they inch towards the financial district.

He usually arrives at Wall Street just after seven. He grabs a coffee from the street vendor opposite his building and makes his way to his desk. He spends the two hours before the market opens catching up on the previous night's transactions.

The market closes again at five, but he sticks around for another couple of hours, figuring out his tack for the next day, following the European transactions. More and more, he seems to be the last one leaving. Sometimes he eats out, sometimes takeaway, then a cab home again.

***

'So they withdrew my grant after the laboratory burned down. I could have gone somewhere else, of course, Harvard, Cambridge... but really, there's no money in research.'

'So you sold your soul to the corporate machine.' John was watching him with an odd intensity.

'What are you, some sort of hippie? Of course I did, as soon as they awarded me my doctorate... which took longer than you'd think, actually.'

'I'll bet.'

'I'm sorry?'

'Never mind.' John shifted, looking a little pained. 'What about the joy of discovery? The satisfaction of finding some elusive solution?' He sounded almost as though he was quoting someone, though Rodney couldn't imagine who.

'No money in research,' he repeated impatiently. 'And, by the way, I now earn at least twice as much as anyone I went to school with.'

'Can't argue with that,' John said, with that earnest expression again, but this time it seemed to Rodney to be somewhat mocking.

'No you can't,' Rodney replied, and that wasn't defensiveness creeping into his tone because getting rich -- well, richer -- was a completely legitimate ambition. The ragamuffin next to him would probably be lucky to pull in ten percent of what he made in a year. And it wasn't like physics had held much of a future for him, anyway. His supervisor had called his thesis on theoretical wormhole dynamics 'fanciful', and in hindsight Rodney had to agree.

John sat back and stared at the rivulets of water running down the window for a while, looking far away. 'I built an atomic bomb for my grade six science fair exhibit,' he murmured.

Rodney stared. 'You... _what_?'

John turned back towards him and for an instant Rodney saw something in his expression like surprise, but more melancholy. Then it was gone, and John was raising an eyebrow at him sardonically. 'Didn't everyone?'

'You're really weird, you know that?'

John smiled, but it had an edge to it. 'Define weird,' he said.

 _You don't know what 'weird' means?_ The comment was right there, on the tip of his tongue, but something about the man's expression made him bite it back and they slid into silence.

John seemed to have contented himself by watching the rain divide patterns on the window. Rodney took the opportunity to get a good look at him.

Yes, he did look a little like an overgrown college kid, but that's not to say he looked _bad_ , per se. The t-shirt beneath the black sweater, which he'd unzipped since getting into the cab, was a dark greenish color and, following the line of his long neck up to his face, Rodney noticed it was a similar color to his eyes. His hair was messy, spiked from the rain and his hands continually running through it. Vain, Rodney thought, and too pretty. The loose jeans seemed to be compensating for a spare frame, though, and it occurred to Rodney that he'd probably come out of a fight pretty well. The thought was disquieting.

He was still staring at him when John leaned his head back on the rest and rolled it lazily to meet Rodney's eyes. For a few moments John just stared right back, his green eyes bright with... something. Rodney couldn't put his finger on it, but,

'Are you sure we've never met before?' he asked before he'd even really thought about it, a little embarrassed to find his throat dry.

John held his gaze for a moment longer, then rolled his head back to stare out the window at the unmoving traffic. 'You said something about walking?' he said.

***

'Oh yes, this was a great idea.' Rodney extracted his foot from the ankle-deep puddle and shook it dispiritedly. 'I don't think I've ever been wetter while on dry land.' Infuriatingly, John stood with his hands in his pockets, looking amused.

'I have,' he said. 'Few months ago, where I live, there was a killer storm.'

'Huh. And you didn't think to, oh, stay indoors?' Rodney stuffed his own hands as deep into his pockets as they'd go.

John shrugged. 'Had some things I had to do.'

'Did that include getting struck by lightning?' Rodney asked, eyes drifting up to John's hair, which refused to be flattened even in this weather.

'You know,' John said, 'it nearly did.'

'I was once almost struck by lightning,' Rodney said. 'Made me tingle all over for days. I kept shocking the dog every time I touched him. Huh...' Rodney frowned, 'maybe that's why he ran away. It never occurred to me before.' John raised his eyebrows but kept quiet. Rodney sneezed. 'Have I mentioned how much I hate the rain?'

'Not in the last five minutes.'

'Well I do. Whoa...' They turned a corner, and the world tilted away from Rodney. He flung out a hand to hold onto something and, far in the distance, felt his arm connect with John's body. 'Whoa,' he said again, and blinked rapidly as darkness encroached on his vision...

...and opened his eyes laying on his back in a white room with a woman looking down at him.

'Elizabeth?' he asked. 'What happened?'...

...'I think you fainted,' John said, kneeling at his side, and Rodney screwed up his face against the rain. 'Think you can stand? Your apartment block's just across the road.'

'I... I fainted?' Rodney asked dazedly as John helped him up. 'There's got to be a better word...'

'Come on,' said John, putting an arm around his back to steady him, and the expression on his face was so anxious that Rodney didn't protest.

***

'Where do you think you're going?'

'I just want to make sure you get up to your apartment safely.'

'What am I, your girlfriend?'

'And, I figure you at least owe me a drink for carrying you back.'

'Okay, you did not carry me back. You supported me after I passed out from manly cold.' Rodney stared into amused green eyes. 'Okay, _fine_ ,' he said, and turned, and let them into the building, ignoring the doorman's nod. 'Just don't drip everywhere.'

***

In the evenings, Rodney potters around his minimalist accommodations killing time until he's ready for sleep. On clear nights, he used to get his telescope out on the terrace, but the light pollution here is something else. He had planned to take it out to the country one weekend, but he's always too busy. It hasn't left its box in five years.

Eventually, and usually later than he should, he climbs alone into his plush double bed and tries to relax slowly into sleep.

The next morning, he gets up at five. It's always the same. Even the dreams.

***

'Here.' Rodney threw a towel at John and pointed to the bedroom. 'Chest of drawers on the left, second drawer down,' he said, feeling something like defeat, and something like electricity pass through him as John smiled his thanks and ambled over to Rodney's room, already pulling his shirt over his head. He re-emerged shortly after wearing Rodney's old 'Geeks Get Rich' t-shirt. His favorite. Of course. Of _course_.

'Who _are_ you?' Rodney asked, filled with a sudden, strong incredulity at himself. John looked a little unsure for a moment, then opened his mouth to answer, but Rodney held up a hand. 'No, wait. At this point, I'd rather not know.'

'Ookay,' John said and pointed at the couch, 'I'm just gonna...'

'Oh please, help yourself,' Rodney sighed pissily. Was it even worth caring anymore? He'd just invited a complete stranger, who'd all but attacked him to get into his cab, up to his apartment, his loft, the place where not even the Air Force could muscle their way in. And he'd just invited in a complete stranger.

Except for the weird feeling Rodney kept getting, like maybe he knew him. Maybe, had known him. From somewhere. Or something.

It was nearly one in the morning; obviously his brain was scrambled.

Bringing the drinks over to the coffee table, Rodney flopped down next to John on the couch. 'You're trouble, you know that?'

'That's a bit of a harsh conclusion to draw on the available evidence, don't you think?' John replied, frowning.

'I'd never fainted before I met you.'

'I thought you passed out.'

'Whatever! The point is, bad things happen around you.' Rodney grabbed his scotch and slumped back into the couch, loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt.

'And there I thought I was being nice. Next time I'll just leave you unconscious in the gutter.' Rodney glanced over at John, but he didn't seem angry. Just, amused.

Rodney was used to people putting up with him because he was brilliant, or because he made them rich. And then there were the people who got offended and left him alone, which was usually the objective. But this man, well, it was almost as if he was enjoying himself.

If he wasn't so tired, he'd probably be really annoyed. As it was, he sat forward, placed his scotch back on the coffee table, and leaned forward and kissed him.

 _The flash of light was so bright it was painful, searing his retinas, and he stumbled blindly backwards. Then the shouting began, voices over voices. Radek, yelling at someone to_ shut the damn thing off. _The Major, calling his name. Others, voices, washing over each other, building to a fever pitch. Then all sound was drowned out by a second, more intense pulse of light, and this one didn't subside. He couldn't look away, and the pain was excruciating._

***

Something was tickling the back of his mind, a quiet voice, whispering that he'd forgotten something, whispering something important. And then he woke up.

'Jesus, did you _punch_ me?'

John looked up from where he'd been taking Rodney's pulse. 'No!' He looked a little pale. 'You, uh, you don't remember what happened?'

'I remember for a moment thinking that kissing you would be a good idea -- truly insane, I know -- and now I find myself, for the second time tonight, coming around from unconsciousness.' He sat up rubbing his pounding head, and looked away from the shock evident on the face of the _complete stranger_ , beginning to wonder if he really was going insane.

'Rodney?' John's voice was low, a little uncertain. 'Why did you...' he gestured between them, 'you know.'

'Kiss you?' Rodney snapped, annoyed that John couldn't even say it.

'Yeah, that.'

'Like most bad ideas, it seemed like a good idea at the time.'

'Oh.' His voice was barely a whisper now. 'Did I... give you some reason, to think that?'

He didn't realize that John had still been holding his wrist until he let go, and then he missed it, the imprint of the heat still palpable. Rodney scowled down at the wood flooring, the bitter taste of the apology already on his tongue. And then he thought about it. 'Actually, yes,' he said, looking up reproachfully, rubbing his head.

'I did?' John asked, sounding more surprised now than shocked.

'Yes, you did,' Rodney said firmly. 'Walking me home? Inviting yourself up? In my -- admittedly success-limited -- experience, that's flirting, John.'

'It is,' he said slowly, frowning. 'Huh.' And then his expression cleared, not going blank exactly, but Rodney couldn't read him at all. He shifted position slightly, so he was facing Rodney more directly, then reached out a hand tentatively to his face, touching his cheek lightly with his fingertips, running them down along his jaw, then placing his palm flat and stroking the smooth skin under his eye with his thumb.

Rodney watched John with his heart thudding in his throat, barely daring to breathe or move in any way. John was staring at his mouth and he was so close Rodney could smell his aftershave, not completely washed away by the rain. And then his hands slid around to the back of Rodney's head and John was kissing him, and he forgot all about the things he should have been asking.

***

Rodney laid in a haze of post-coital contentment, sprawled over John, his head on John's chest. He would have to get up in a minute or two, clean them off, shower, but right now he didn't think he could move even if he wanted to.

John's chest rose and fell steadily beneath him, breathing deeply, apparently asleep. Rodney listened to his heartbeat and tried to ignore the vaguely uncomfortable feeling that nevertheless refused to go away. Sex was sex, and that had been very good sex. What did it matter that his partner had barely uttered more than a gasp the entire time? It wasn't really that unusual. What did it matter that something in his eyes had seemed so far away.

The memory of John's flushed cheeks, eyes bright with arousal, lips parted and head thrown back as Rodney touched his dick, came into his mind, and he tried to think about that instead. Sucking on him, his taste, the way he had pushed Rodney up against the wall and held him there. Rodney touched his neck, smiling slightly at the grazed skin he could feel there.

'Rodney?'

'Oh, you're awake.' Rodney propped his chin on his fist and couldn't help the idiotic grin he was sure was plastered over his face. 'Hi.'

'Hi,' John replied sleepily, and yawned. Sleepy was a good look for him, Rodney decided. He moved up John's body and waited for him to finish, then kissed him gently. John lightly pushed him away.

'What's wrong?' he asked, sounding more concerned than he wanted to.

John looked up at him, apologetic. 'Shower?'

'Oh right, of course,' Rodney said, feeling stupid. He rolled off and pointed to the en suite. 'Over there. I'll be there in a...' he trailed off as John closed the door behind him without another look.

Rodney sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the door, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

***

 _'What does it do, anyway?'_

 _'Just turn it on, Major.'_

Rodney awoke slowly, laying on his back in a white room. All around him were sounds of human activity and the whir and bleep of machines. He tried to sit up, and couldn't. He tried to speak, but couldn't open his mouth. Somewhere off to his left, a Scots-accented voice was snapping angrily at someone, 'He's fallen asleep. Where the bloody hell are you, man?'

And then a voice, loud in his ear, woke him. 'Rodney!'

He was on the couch where he'd been waiting for John, some old western on TV, and John was shaking him hard, harder than necessary. 'Stop now,' Rodney moaned, his head beginning to ache again. 'What is it with you?' He vaguely remembered that he was angry.

John was breathing a little raggedly, something like fear in his eyes, radiating from him with an intensity that was unnerving. 'Do you trust me?'

'What?'

'Do you trust me?' John repeated, giving Rodney another little shake.

'Ow. Yes! Against all my better judgment. Please stop doing that.' Rodney felt weird, like something was missing, like the world was turning fuzzy at the edges.

'Rodney listen, this is important. Don't go to sleep again, okay? You can't go to sleep.'

Rodney reached up to touch his forehead, rubbing it absently. 'Yeah, okay,' he said.

'Jesus,' John said, sagging. Loosening his grip, he leaned forward and rested his forehead on Rodney's shoulder. Tired and confused and more than a little scared, Rodney just let it happen. Unable to think through the pounding in his head, he said instead,

'So, you never answered my question.' Outside, he noticed that something strange was happening.

John lifted his head. 'Which was that?'

Rodney looked away from where the buildings seemed to be disintegrating. 'Haven't we met somewhere before?'

John actually laughed and let his head fall back onto Rodney's shoulder. 'Now you break out the lines?' Rodney felt the movement of John's laughter against him and couldn't help smiling himself.

He concentrated on that, on the warmth and feel of John's body, as the sensation washed over him of unraveling, of something falling away, and he wondered detachedly if it was his sanity. But he had said he trusted John, and although he couldn't figure out why, it was the truth. The room was getting brighter, probably the sun was rising. He couldn't believe he'd been up all night. But then he realized it was still way too early for that, and anyway, the sun didn't rise that fast, and wasn't that bright.

'Something's wrong, isn't it?' John raised his head again but didn't say anything, just fixed him with a steady gaze. It was so hard to think. 'This... all of it, it's not supposed to be like this.'

The room was incredibly bright now, colors bleaching away, and John sounded far away when he said,

'Hang in there, Rodney, just a little longer.'

'Don't leave me,' Rodney tried to say, but he couldn't hear the sound of it. Somewhere in the distance, he felt John's hand close over his own, and then the light enveloped everything.

***

 _In the world of the very small, physical systems move away from the classical Newtonian model and begin to behave in ways that seem very strange to us. For example, electrons have some properties in common with particles and some properties in common with waves, but they are in fact neither. They are something other, something with which we can draw no comparisons to the world we experience every day. Certain properties of such entities can never be truly known -- we cannot, for example, measure their position without changing their velocity, and vice versa -- hence they can only be described by probabilities. It is this uncertainty at the quantum level that enables the device to access, and the user to experience, alternate realities._ \-- from 'Preliminary Report on the Quantum Generator', Dr. Radek Zelenka

***

Rodney awoke to find four concerned faces peering down at him.

'Rodney, how're you feeling?' He stared at the woman who had spoken, disorientated.

'Elizabeth?'

'Yes,' she smiled, looking relieved, and patted his arm.

'Do you know where you are?' asked another voice.

'Carson,' Rodney said slowly, then shook his head -- this was stupid. 'Yes of course.'

'Well?' Carson asked.

'The moon. Can I go now? I'm really hungry and I hear there's good cheese.'

Elizabeth was failing to suppress a smile. Carson just frowned and scribbled something on Rodney's chart. 'I'm afraid we'll have to keep the IV line in for another couple of hours,' he said. 'You were quite ill -- we don't want to shock your system. You've been out for three weeks, Rodney.'

'Three weeks?' Rodney stared at Carson and then turned to Elizabeth. 'Three weeks?'

She nodded, 'I'm afraid so. We had to figure out how the device worked before we could even think of turning it off.'

'Device? What device?'

Carson and Elizabeth shared a worried look. 'You don't remember?' Carson asked.

'Well obviously not or I wouldn't be asking.'

'It's really quite incredible,' Zelenka cut in. 'When Major Sheppard activated it in the lab, it generated an intense, directional quantum field that enveloped you and made strange interactions with your brain. We couldn't move you for two whole days. Doctor Kavanagh got quite annoyed. Of course then it started to affect your hypothalamus and we had to-'

'Wait, wait,' Rodney interrupted, trying to think, 'directional quantum field, where have I heard that before?'

'The quantum mirror-'

'At Area 51, of course. But that would mean-'

'Yes.'

'I was in a-?'

'Yes, yes, an alternate reality. But unlike the mirror, which physically transports you to the other reality, this device lets you experience the reality from your counterpart's perspective without actually leaving your own. Your body was here, but for all intents and purposes, you _became_ your other self.'

'Wow,' Rodney said, letting his head fall back onto the pillow. 'And I was there for three weeks? I don't remember a thing.'

'It may take some time for your memory to return. We'll run some scans tomorrow but for now, rest,' Carson said. 'Come on you lot, out.'

Radek nodded and smiled, and Elizabeth squeezed his hand, saying, 'It's good to have you back,' and followed Beckett and Zelenka out. Rodney looked expectantly at the only person who hadn't spoken, now lingering at the foot of his bed.

But all Major Sheppard said was, ''Night, Rodney,' and slipped away after the others.

***

He came back a few hours later, though, after Carson had left for the night, waking Rodney insistently with a bowl of jell-o he'd presumably charmed out of one of the nurses.

'Carson told me about the second interface,' Rodney said around a yawn, loading up his spoon.

'Did he,' Sheppard said, poking experimentally at his own mound of wobbling green.

'He did. He also told me about Radek's figuring out how to send you in after me.' Sheppard didn't say anything, just continued playing with his jell-o. Rodney fidgeted. 'Well?'

'Well what?'

'Well what?' Rodney repeated incredulously. 'We were in another _reality_ , Major. Do you know what that means? What was it like? What did I do? Something important, no doubt, but until my memories return, you're my only source of information.'

'You know, that's not exactly true,' said Sheppard. 'Zelenka was able to synchronize our radios to the quantum field, or something, so's Beckett could advise me. He probably heard most of it.'

'Oh,' Rodney said around a mouthful. 'Carson didn't tell me that.'

'No, well, it wasn't exactly a bundle of laughs.'

'Why not?'

'One of you is hard enough to deal with.' Rodney gave him an exasperated look, and Sheppard sighed, setting his untouched jell-o aside. 'We only had a couple of hours before your brain completely fried itself to get you out of that thing. Beckett needed me to keep you awake and distracted. I don't know why,' he added hurriedly, before Rodney could get the question out, 'Something about how your brainwaves interacted with the quantum field.'

'Why didn't you just tell me about Atlantis; tell me what had happened? There's a good chance I would have believed you, you know.'

'I know, but Beckett advised against it. The field was pretty unstable and he didn't know what might happen. It's not like you could have done anything, anyway.'

'Well, I might have gone a little easier on you.'

Sheppard looked up sharply. 'You remember something?'

'No, I just assumed... Major, what's going on? I take it you didn't wake me in the middle of the night just to ply me with E-numbers.'

Sheppard got up and started pacing restlessly. 'Rodney, look, towards the end when they were shutting the machine off, some pretty weird shit was happening in there. At one stage, you had a seizure. We were close to losing you. I had to... I...' He stopped at the foot of the bed and gripped the railing, looking Rodney straight in the eye. 'I did what I thought I had to do. You need to remember that, when you get your memory back.'

Rodney blinked. 'What are you talking about?' he said, and then he noticed Carson standing at the gap in the curtains behind the Major. He looked furious.

'Major Sheppard,' he said, 'kindly tell me why you're bothering my patient at this late hour?'

It was subtle, but something about Sheppard's expression changed, something in his eyes seemed harder, and without turning around, he said, 'McKay and I were just having a little chat, Doc.'

'Well you're done,' Carson said, his voice uncharacteristically cold. 'Go back to bed and leave Rodney to rest.'

Sheppard was staring hard at the wall above Rodney's head, unmoving.

'Major,' Carson snapped, 'leave. Don't you think you've done enough damage?'

Sheppard turned slowly and fixed his stare on Carson. For a moment, Rodney thought he was going to put up a fight, but then he left, just like that, without another word. Rodney stared after him, speechless.

'Sorry, Rodney,' Carson muttered.

'But-' he began to protest, but Carson had shut the curtains already and Rodney was left alone with even more questions than before. 

**Author's Note:**

> I started this for the original "abandon" challenge on livejournal's sga_flashfic, and the damn thing just kept growing. It got so long I had to split it in two, however the sequel that was in the works was never completed, and so this remains a bit of a dangler...
> 
> Ramus is Latin and means 'branch'.


End file.
